I found out this morning that they lowered the water down at the local lake, for annual maintenance. Of course, I learned this 2 weeks after the draw down began, so I was late as usual. It's the price you pay for having a job, I guess.
I told Lori about it and suggested that I ought to check it out. She agreed that was a good idea, and gave me a little wink.
Sweet gal, that wife of mine. I gave her a peck on the cheek,
grabbed the GTP and hit the door like a buck rabbit after a doe. Oh sweet black water here I come!
Well, it wasn't long before the dreamin' and the reality soon caught up with each other. The pond is down, but I soon learned that every dude with a detector has been hammering it for the last two weeks. Most of the competition around here is either retired, unemployed or works rotating shifts with extensive off time. This means a regular horde of detectorists had been at it for a fortnight. It's my darned luck to have a high-paying, prestigious job that requires my actual presence on site. Dang - missed it again!
Undaunted, I hit it anyway. I did know that the opposite side of the cove from the hammered, modern beach is where folks used to swim, going back to the early 20th Century. This period peaked during WWII, and it had remained a popular recreation spot until the new beach was created, 5 years ago. I also know that I am not the only guy who is aware of this. But, hey, what else did I have to do?
I already knew, too, that it was an iron infested nightmare. Old cans, straps, rebar, nameless ferrous EO's - it was all under there like a steel carpet. My answer was to run in all metal and actually listen to the iron. Radical, I know, but that is how I roll, baby!
Once I got used to the Iron Song, anything else was a sure fire tip-off when I heard it. Here are the results:
The Pouch Dump
[attachment 144388 DSCF0018.JPG]
The Usual Suspects
[attachment 144391 DSCF0019.JPG]
The Gleanings
[attachment 144390 DSCF0020.JPG]
Just a bunch of clad and one lonely 'ol '44 Wheat Cent.
But like I said before - what else I got to do?
Thanks for looking.
I told Lori about it and suggested that I ought to check it out. She agreed that was a good idea, and gave me a little wink.
Sweet gal, that wife of mine. I gave her a peck on the cheek,

Well, it wasn't long before the dreamin' and the reality soon caught up with each other. The pond is down, but I soon learned that every dude with a detector has been hammering it for the last two weeks. Most of the competition around here is either retired, unemployed or works rotating shifts with extensive off time. This means a regular horde of detectorists had been at it for a fortnight. It's my darned luck to have a high-paying, prestigious job that requires my actual presence on site. Dang - missed it again!

Undaunted, I hit it anyway. I did know that the opposite side of the cove from the hammered, modern beach is where folks used to swim, going back to the early 20th Century. This period peaked during WWII, and it had remained a popular recreation spot until the new beach was created, 5 years ago. I also know that I am not the only guy who is aware of this. But, hey, what else did I have to do?
I already knew, too, that it was an iron infested nightmare. Old cans, straps, rebar, nameless ferrous EO's - it was all under there like a steel carpet. My answer was to run in all metal and actually listen to the iron. Radical, I know, but that is how I roll, baby!

Once I got used to the Iron Song, anything else was a sure fire tip-off when I heard it. Here are the results:
The Pouch Dump
[attachment 144388 DSCF0018.JPG]
The Usual Suspects
[attachment 144391 DSCF0019.JPG]
The Gleanings
[attachment 144390 DSCF0020.JPG]
Just a bunch of clad and one lonely 'ol '44 Wheat Cent.
But like I said before - what else I got to do?
Thanks for looking.